


Ante Up.

by LouLor



Series: Ms. Hudson's Whores. [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Blow Jobs, Brothels, Cunnilingus, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Gambling, Mainly porn, Oral Sex, Prostitution, Tiny bit of plot, Vaginal Sex, Victorian Sherlock Holmes, basically Bennet and Rose from Ripper Street but without East End accents, secretly in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-29
Updated: 2015-08-29
Packaged: 2018-04-17 20:24:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4680167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LouLor/pseuds/LouLor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What houses like this sell is the pretence of intimacy and passion.  Those who just want somewhere to stick themselves, they are idiots.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ante Up.

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by an omegle roleplay but having been DC’d before we could trade aliases I am unable to give due credit (I only know their name was Madison so... If that’s your name or online name message me and I’ll amend the credit)

 

“I hope this isn’t a raid,” Ms. Hudson wrung her lace-gloved hands with worry as Sherlock Holmes stepped past the threshold of her Baker Street house.  It wasn’t as though she had much defence if her property was to be turned over, there were too many card games in play, too much whiskey being served, and a girl too many rouged up with bosoms bulging from too-tight bodices for Mrs. Hudson even to claim she merely ran a humble boarding house.

“Not this time,” Came the reply, much to Ms. Hudson’s relief, as the gentleman in question left his coat, scarf and hat with the other woman at the door.  Sherlock glanced over her, were it not for the abbesses near her mouth and being vinegar-thin she might have been considered pretty.  He didn’t like to think how the rest of her had been afflicted.  Even at his least proficient it was not hard to image her situation; visibly infected - though Ms. Hudson was a good businesswoman and wouldn’t risk her reputation being sabotaged even by an invisible infection - and left unable to repay her debt to the madame.  Any other case Kitty might have been thrown on the streets but Ms. Hudson was kind of heart and let her work the debt off in service.  Either that or she didn’t want the girl’s death on her conscience were she to be Whitechapel’s next victim.

“Away with you Kitty,” Ms. Hudson shooed her away, after all it wouldn’t do to put off customers.  “I believe there’s a place at your regular table, sir.”  With a smile Ms. Hudson let the patron inside the parlour where they were met by the familiar cloud of cigar smoke and alcohol filled breath of men gambling away their money before choosing a girl for the night, if they had the money left to pay for her company.  
“And my regular lady?” Sherlock inquired with a smirk.  
“She’ll be with you shortly.”  


 

By the time Molly had drifted down the stairs into the parlour, her hair spilling from pinned-up locks and her dress a wave of muted pink taffeta, Sherlock was already sat behind a thick pile of winnings.  She picked her way through the gambling tables and lounging chairs towards her mark, politely waving away the small glass of gin Mary had poured her.  Every girl to a one nearly always preferred to be desensitised when entertaining a client, but Molly was glad to know tonight would not need such anaesthesia.

“Hello dear,” She smiled, resting a hand on the shoulder of the all too familiar dark haired gentleman.  “Care for some company?” Sherlock didn’t reply at first, he was too busy watching his opponents, one being Thomas something-or-other.  He was already losing badly but Sherlock wanted to make sure there wasn’t a chance for him to fold mid-game and leave the table to pay for Molly’s time before Sherlock himself was able to.  Especially since Sherlock did not yet have enough to pay for Molly’s entire night.  Not that there was much threat of that, he’d been card counting since the moment he’d sat down, with the occasional thrown round so as not to appear suspicious, unbeknownst to his competitors.

“Once I’ve finish my game, my dear.”  Sherlock remarked over his shoulder without looking at Molly.  “Molly, something for good luck first.  A kiss on the cheek, your hand to turn over the river, whatever gesture you deem appropriate.”  There was a nudge at his wrist by Molly’s dress as she perched herself on the arm of his chair and leaned in to press a kiss to his cheek.

“Looking to win big tonight are you Mister Holmes?”  She asked as she pulled away and brushed her hand softly over the back of his neck, just above the collar of his suit jacket.  It was all to Sherlock’s requirements of course.  Molly was a good guise; as long as she fawned over him the other men would think Sherlock distracted, soft, and liable to lose.  “But I do think it’s best I pull you from the table before you bankrupt these good gentlemen.”  That only made Sherlock smirk.

“My dear Miss Molly, I’m not out to send any one to the poor house.  In a place like this they can do that for themselves.”  After all, if he took every penny they had now there’d be nothing to win next time.  The man to Sherlock’s left, a banker if his shoes were anything to go by, revealed the river and each player in succession showed their hand, all the while Sherlock kept his head back, absently leant into Molly’s hand.  “Oh, is it my turn?”  He innocently replied when there was an impatient cough from the table.  Sherlock slowly laid his cards out, he had won.  Not by much.  Not that it mattered.  “Gentlemen, it has been a pleasure but sweeter company demands my attention.”  Gathering up his winnings, and desperately trying not to look or sound too self congratulatory, Sherlock quickly ushered Molly away from the table in the direction of the stairs with barely a chance for her to bid the men goodnight.  “What a remarkable effect you have on my good fortune Miss Molly.”

Molly chuckled, proud of her part on the plan, and revelled in the warmth of Sherlock’s hand on her waist.  “Ms. Hudson’s been asking about you lately, wondering where you’ve been.  I pray you’ve not grown tired of our company.”  She shook her head and took to the first step of the stairs.  “Finally found an interesting case have you?”

Sherlock could only roll his eyes at her teasing.  Molly knew all too well what had kept him away, as did every working woman in London that knew his name.  “I can guarantee if anyone did threaten this fine establishment, I would endeavour not only to find the culprit but also to do to him what he has done to those women.”  Sherlock replied, careful not to say the name while they were still in the open.  No idiot would openly discus the Ripper when the type of women he targeted were so close at hand.  True Sherlock worked with the police but he was not one of them, and the rules and regulations that bound them did not bind him.  Not to mention, Sherlock would know how to properly dispose of a body.  However, given the public's current mood they might actually support a form vigilante justice.  “I would imagine the only way any one could hurt you is if they paid to,” Sherlock mumbled to Molly as they reached the top of the stairs and turned down the corridor to her room.

 

Unlike other men that might have pawed at Molly Sherlock stood politely to one side as she unlocked her door.  The room was not large, none of the rooms were, but the bed was wide enough for two, the sheets were regularly cleaned and enough light was provided that any client could see if he was paying for spoilt goods.  Sherlock shuffled inside after Molly and removed his suit jacket, draping it over the back of a chair provided for clients with less nightly inclined preferences.  By the time the lock clicked back into place Sherlock had already unbuttoned his cuffs and loosened his cravat.

“Eager are we?”  Molly asked with an arched brow as she walked to stand opposite her patron, her hands moving deftly to undo the buttons of his shirt. Sherlock tilted his head down trying to catch Molly's eye.

“You should have been down earlier.”  The answer made Molly laugh.

“If you’d sent warning of your arrival I might have been ready in time.”  Sherlock liked her to be washed and douched before entertaining him, usually the extravagance would not have been catered to but Sherlock always paid generously.  Molly stepped back from the open shirt to undo the back of her dress but found Sherlock’s hands on her hips, gently spinning her around, to pick at the ladder of laces and stare at the curve of Molly’s shoulder and neck.  For her troubles Molly watched Sherlock in the reflection of her mirror, his gaze being the only one that made her heart beat faster.  Once the corset was loose enough Sherlock shuffled it down over Molly’s hips to the floor, thanking Ms. Hudson’s providence that her girls weren’t trussed up in hooped skirts, knowing it would be easier to put back on if she only had to tighten the laces rather than entirely relace them.

“This colour suits you.  I think I’d prefer you in blue.”

“Buy me a blue dress and I’ll wear it.”  Molly sighed in response, relieved to no longer have her ribs constricted or breasts crushed.  Sherlock’s hands continued downwards and pulled at the bowstrings that kept Molly’s skirts in place.

“You would be most attractive in blue.  A bold cornflower blue.”  He mused, keeping to himself that the actual colour he was thinking of was the same dark navy as his favourite scarf.  With a short shimmy Molly had her skirts slip away and pool around her legs; for the sake of brevity shifts and bloomers were forgone for the later working hours, leaving Molly stood before him in nothing.

“You're odd you know, the way you undress me when you're here.”  She nodded, looking over him for a moment.  Molly turned back to face Sherlock and snapped off his braces, then slipped her hands into his shirt and pushed it from his shoulders then down his arms; her fingertips trailing over his skin in the manner she’d learnt made men feel appreciated no matter their stature.  “Not all men take that time.”

"Then those men are idiots," Sherlock smiled, fingers itching to take the pins out that held Molly's hair in place.  Best not to.  He spun her slowly so Molly faced the mirror and pressed her back to his bare chest, the flat of his hand spread over her belly.  "The reason any man comes here is for this, a woman-" In most of Sherlock's visits, yes, it had specifically been Molly.  He rationalised this by telling himself that he knew that she was clean and she knew what he liked. "- what houses like this sell is the pretence of intimacy and passion.  Those who just want somewhere to stick themselves, they are idiots and are better off with the women who sell themselves at the docks."  Sherlock did have the advantage of liking the way Molly looked.  Once the dress was off she didn't look like a whore, the service melted away from her face and Molly was presented as herself.  A dangerous thing to like perhaps since this was something paid for. To distract himself Sherlock skitted his hand up Molly's torso and fitted his palm over her left breast.  
"Plus bunched up skirts get in the way."

Molly nodded, watching him in the mirror.  "Stripping a girl down makes it harder for her to get back to work, but since you always take me for the night, I don't mind being stripped down."

"If you wanted to keep your clothes on you wouldn't have started the laces for me," Sherlock murmured and lowered his mouth to Molly's shoulder.  Kisses were another thing most clients didn't bother with.  But it came back to money, if a customer paid to undress her, then he could undress her, if he paid to kiss her or beat her, then he could.  Above Molly smiled at the sweet kisses on her neck, another thing she enjoyed about when Sherlock came to see her; he was kind and gentle, taking his time to make sure that she enjoyed their time together also, not at all like the other men.

"It's been nearly a month since you saw me last."

"Cases kept me away," Sherlock continued but did a job of distracting Molly from her worries by gently rolling her nipple between finger and thumb.  "The killings in Whitechapel keep dragging me back there like an infirm aunt draws in relatives."

"Cases kept you away for far too long.  I'd started to think that you got tired of me... Or that something happened to you..."  The slight pulling and rolling of her nipple made her let out a soft breath, and by instinct both personal and professional she arched her back to press her bust firmer into Sherlock’s diligent hand.  The man in question chuckled deeply, his head close by Molly’s ear and the vibrations buzzing through his chest to her back.

"I'm almost offended you would think I am able to get tired."  Just for that Sherlock gave her breast a squeeze as punishment, not that he'd done it hard enough to hurt her.  "I suppose you are correct in your concern of something might happen to me."  No one exactly liked the police after all, regardless that Sherlock wasn't technically a policeman.  "But I can confirm I'm in one piece, you're welcome to examine me if needs be."

Molly bit her lip, "I've been told that I'm very through in my examination of men, you're sure that you would be alright with that?"  She laughed, and turned her head to look over her shoulder at him.

"I wouldn't mind your 'thorough examination', intelligence can be as attractive as aesthetic beauty."  Sherlock shrugged in jest.  It was very bad habit for a woman who’d been paid to flatter and arouse a man but Molly couldn’t help but laugh quietly at Sherlock’s assessment.

"You're an odd man.  Odd, but good.  Far too good to be spending time in houses like this, stealing money from the other men."

"As long as they don't realise it I'm fine," Sherlock grinned and ducked his head to kiss Molly's lips while her head was turned towards him.  He tipped her chin up while their lips were pressed and slowly turned her body to face him, careful not to over stretch either of them.  With Molly leaning into the kiss he was able they were able to remain locked at the lip until they were pressed chest to chest.

"You seem to be the only one who makes any realisation that I'm the least bit intelligent."  She nodded with a small sigh.  "I mean compared to some of the girls here I'm almost as smart as you are." Molly teased, kissing his neck and chest gently.  Before Sherlock could utter a reply of objection Molly had slid her hand down his chest to the waist of his trousers, fiddled open the buttons until there was leeway enough to slip her hand inside his drawers and could wrap her fingers around the length of his cock.

“Is this part of your thorough examination, Miss Molly?”  Sherlock all but purred and looked down, watching every move of both Molly’s face and body with hooded eyes.  With feigned coyness Molly smiled as she moved her hand back and forth.

“It is, and I dare say I’ve found the cause of your hysteria Mister Holmes.”  Keeping her eyes on him Molly worked Sherlock’s clothes free of his legs until they were at his ankles, freeing his cock to stick out with the occasional twitch.  Without hesitating Molly knelt and took up the appendage again, kissing the tip as she worked it with her hand before enveloping the head with her lips.  Any coherent thought in Sherlock’s head was slowly fading, rapidly being replaced by his baser instincts that demanded the feel of another person’s skin under his fingers and to push his hips forwards into the source of pleasure.  With a sweep of her tongue over the glans Molly lowered her head, taking in what she could of the shaft then took up a steady bobbing motion, pleased to hear a satisfied groan ripple out of Sherlock.  She would have taken him deeper or faster had their not been a hand cupping her jaw and pushed her away.

“On the bed.” Came the growled command and Molly did her best to remain graceful while scrambling on to the mattress.  Sherlock withdrew to the chair to remove his shoes and socks, but had a fine view of Molly and the peek of pink between her legs, peppered with neatly trimmed hair that while never impeded any man in his fancies but boldly confirmed her womanhood, as she began playing with herself while waiting for him.  Sherlock fisted himself slowly as he watched, Molly read his gaze and parted her legs wider revealing in detail as she circled her middle fingertip over her clit.  Finally Sherlock stood and stalked towards the bed, still deciding how he would start with her.

“Arms above your head.”  Molly obliged.  The mattress dipped as Sherlock crawled up between Molly’s legs until his mouth was parallel to her breasts.  He eyed each, like a cat watching cornered prey, as they rose and fell with Molly’s breath.  Slowly he lowered his head and captured the left areola in between his lips, gently tugging with his teeth then suckling gently till her nipple was a hard peak.  It was a matter of smug pride knowing he was likely the only client who did this for Molly’s pleasure and not selfishly his own.  He wanted to bite her properly, or suck hard enough to leave a mark, to designate her as for his use only but that was against house rules.

Abandoning her breast Sherlock trailed kisses down, down her ribs and flat belly, licking an ‘O’ around her naval, and down till he was kissing the inside of her thigh and could lick a stripe in the seam were leg and pelvis met.  His used his fingers to hold aside flesh and expose Molly’s clit that he might circle his mouth over it.  Sherlock lapped at the small head with the tip of his tongue, alternating between swirls and flicks, with varying speeds until the tell-tale nerve twitched in Molly’s right thigh.  That was not enough, however, and Sherlock rubbed his fingertips around, but not in, her opening, spreading Molly’s wetness over her folds.

“Please-” Molly gasped, desperate with want to lose her fingers in Sherlock’s hair.  Her knuckles were white where she grasped the bedsheets so tightly.  “Please- God- Don’t stop.”  With a self satisfied hum Sherlock dipped his fingers into Molly, first one then two, and stroked firmly reminiscent of ‘come hither’ gesture till he touched the sensitive part inside of her that caused small spasms as Molly tumbled towards climax.  Molly came with a loud, genuine moan.  Her hips pushing up into Sherlock’s touch and tongue, her face scrunched up in pleasure, fighting not to clench her thighs around Sherlock’s head and only restricted from doing so by his free hand that kept at least one leg pinned back.  Sherlock worked her through it, so much so Molly thought her heart might burst.  When he stopped Sherlock was lying over Molly; even though he had wiped the excess from his mouth with the back of his hand Molly could still taste herself on his lips and tongue when they kissed.  Molly lay beneath him boneless as Sherlock’s hands went back to her breasts while she caught her breath.

“Sherlock- Are you going to fuck me or not?”  Usually that was enough to prompt him into action, last time he’d flipped Molly onto all fours and was in her before she could get her balance.  Not this time though, and not for lack of want.  Molly saw the hard control in his eyes, even under the lust that had darkened his eyes to the colour of the deep ocean.  He had something in mind then.  After a moment Sherlock pulled Molly’s legs wide and settled his hips between then, grinding his shaft against her thoroughly wet slit.

“Has a client other than me ever made you come before?”  Sherlock’s voice was low and would have been threatening were it not for their familiarity.  Molly’s silence led him to the conclusion that someone had and he hated them for it.  “By accident no doubt.  Has a client other than me made you come twice?”  Molly shook her head and felt Sherlock line the head of his leaking cock against her entrance.  “Good.”

He pushed in slow, stretching out the moment so he could watch the building frustration on Molly’s face.  She felt good, exquisite even.  Hot, and warm, and clenched around him.  Once he was firmly seated Sherlock pulled back and rocked forwards, agonisingly slowly, grinding into Molly until he realised his own desperation and was unable to prevent himself from rutting animalisticaly into her.  He dropped his head to her shoulder, kissing and nipped along the tendons of her neck then jaw.  Molly gave up gripping the sheets and had her arms around him, grasping at his back with her legs locked around Sherlock’s waist in an attempt to bring him closer than he already was.  They both moaned and grunted with the exertion, there was a fine film of sweat appearing on each body, and the sound of skin slapping against skin had all but drowned out the ruckuss of downstairs.

“Oh- Sherlock-” Molly squeezed around him, each thrust more brutish than the last.  It had been a month, there was no more time for niceties, all Sherlock could do was bury himself in this woman underneath him, this Molly who even though she took dozens of men to bed Sherlock had not the heart nor inclination to quit her company.  He might not be allowed to leave a visible mark but all day tomorrow Molly would still feel him between her legs.

Sherlock snaked a hand between their bodies, flicking rapidly against her clit until her climax burst over her again.  Molly came with the loudest cry that had ever come from her mouth, clamping tightly around him like a vice, leaving her writhing and shaking underneath him as what felt like her soul shatter and regrow over again.  There was a strangled gasp from Sherlock as he pulled out, catching himself not a moment too soon before he shot off over Molly’s stomach.  The strength in his arms and legs left him, he would have fallen on top of her had Molly’s hands not braced him.  Sherlock stilled above her and panted, gulping in air, his breath hardly keeping up with his heartbeat.  Molly lay happily, each inch of her body filled with utter bliss and contentment.

 

“I have missed you Mister Holmes.”  She eventually sighed with a giggle that bounced and floated like seeds caught on the wind.  Sherlock only grunted in reply and, with what felt like a herculean effort, rolled to one side.  On wobbly legs Molly got to her feet and went to the water basin to clean herself.  Men paid extra to come inside, Sherlock always paid more than enough for the privilege but never did.  Oh Molly knew there were still dangers but she was thankful he did not, even though he was one of the few men, if not the only man, Molly would not feel terrible about should he put her into a delicate condition.  Sherlock lay prone as Molly returned to the bed and promptly nestled into his side with her head on his shoulder, her forthrightness was rewarded as Sherlock curled his arm around her.  With faces turned to one another they exchanged sweet kisses silently until Sherlock broke the stillness.

“I’ll not be ready to go again for a while.  Talk to me.”

“About what?”  Molly muttered as she skimmed her fingers feather-light over his chest.

“Has anyone new come here?  Don’t pout, it might help with my investigations.  Any one of interest or particularly to fleece out of a few hundred pounds?”

Molly sighed, typical he’d pick the last topic she wanted to discuss during a post-sex haze.  “There’s one.  Doctor Watson.”

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies for any historical inaccuracies, excuse them as anachronisms.


End file.
